


one fire, quenched with another

by blackkat



Series: Jon Antilles prompts [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-CA:WS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Holyshit,” Bucky says, because there's aspaceshipin the forest.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Jon Antilles
Series: Jon Antilles prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941646
Comments: 48
Kudos: 712
Collections: Star Wars Alternate Universes





	one fire, quenched with another

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Cody/Sam made me think Jon Antilles/Bucky Barnes and honestly? They'd be disastrous messes, but by golly no-one's going to be able to get Bucky back into Winter Soldier mode with Jon on the case. ... Eating regularly has less rosy prospects, tho.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Bucky says, because there's a _spaceship_ in the forest.

Or, well. It _used_ to be a spaceship, probably, all sleek lines and tiny wings swept back, torn nearly in half by the force of its impact. There are scorch marks on the trees, a wide trench dug into the earth where it must have slid to a stop, and there are a few scattered pieces that look like they must have been torn off when it hit, battered and torn. But—

It’s a spaceship. There's strange lettering on the hull, and it doesn’t look like one of Stark’s Quinjets, too alien, too strange. Bucky stares at it for a long moment, and there's a thread in him, something that remembers expos and flying cars and science fiction magazines, that beats hard and fast in his chest like curiosity.

For a moment, he hesitates anyway, because Steve is still looking for him and this could be a trap, some clever bit of cunning set up to draw Bucky in. But… Steve wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t _think_ Steve would do that.

It’s hard to be certain, sometimes. Taking out HYDRA bases is already uncertain enough, given the way his head feels some days.

If it _is_ a trap, though, it’s one that isn't setting off any of Bucky's instincts, and the scene isn't hitting him wrong. The crash looks at least a few days old, and this deep in the Canadian Rockies, it’s no wonder it hasn’t been noticed yet, so that tracks. He’s seen wildlife, and he _hasn’t_ seen any hint of other people, even though his camp is just down the ridge. Either HYDRA or Steve could be behind it if it _is_ a trap, but…Bucky doesn’t think it is.

The Winter Soldier’s instincts have to be good for _something_ at this point. Bucky doesn’t trust himself with most things, but—he can manage to trust this. Probably.

And besides, it’s a _spaceship_. Bucky's pretty sure the glyphs on the hull are supposed to be writing, even, which is cool in ways he can't begin to put into words.

Tugging the hood of his sweatshirt back, Bucky takes his first cautious step out into the skid mark carved into the earth, scanning the edges of the forest. There's no movement, no sign of Steve and his friends about to burst out of the trees and grab him, and Bucky lets out a slow breath, then turns his attention to the ship. It’s on its side, wedged between two huge conifers, but a portion of the back looks like it was cut out in a perfect circle, a neat hole with melted edges.

It makes Bucky think of space battles, and starships firing lasers at each other, and he grins despite himself, ducking beneath a tree that’s listing over the newly-made clearing and coming up right underneath the back end of the ship, beneath the hole. It’s high enough up that he has to squint against the darkness within to make out any part of the interior, but he can see buckled metal plating, a glimpse of distant sky through the viewscreen. The inside looks rough, functional, not the lush alien luxury Bucky was halfway expecting from too many Buck Rogers stories, but that’s hardly disappointing. Bucky eyes the gap above his head, trying to calculate how much effort it would take to jump, and whether the ship is stable enough to take his weight—

Something hot and sharp and humming settles beneath his chin, and a dark, soft voice asks, “Didn’t anyone teach you about trespassing?”

Bucky breathes out, low and slow, and the automatic urge is to lash out, to catch the knife or whatever it is with his metal hand and jerk back, flip the stranger over his shoulder and break something to put him off-balance, but—Bucky doesn’t do that. Or at the very least, he tries to save it for the dregs of HYDRA.

“Yeah,” he says. “My ma was big on not trespassing. Pretty sure this is a national park, though, so I don’t think it counts.”

There's a pause, careful, and then the knife dips away. “I meant my ship,” the man says, and Bucky feels a flicker of something like a thrill, thinks _aliens_ , and turns before he can even register that sudden movements might be a bad idea.

The man behind him doesn’t exactly look like an alien, though. He’s tall, completely draped in a dark cloak with a deep hood, to the point that Bucky can only make out the shape of his scarred mouth, his sharp chin. Quick, Bucky flicks a glance at the knife in his hand—

And freezes, startled.

“Is that _vibrating_?” he demands, incredulous. Maybe a little jealous.

The man cocks his head, like the question is confusing. “It’s a vibroblade,” he says. “How else would it cut through hard things?”

Hard things. Including bone, probably, given the way it’s humming. Bucky might even give it good odds against metal, depending on the thickness.

Scratch that, he’s _definitely_ jealous.

“This is your ship?” he asks. “Where are you from? How the hell did you end up in _Canada_?”

That scarred mouth pulls down, just a little. “This planet is…Canada? I thought it was called Earth.”

Right. Because Bucky is talking to an _alien_ , even if he looks human. “It is called Earth. This country is Canada.”

“Oh.” A faint grimace, just enough for Bucky to notice, and the man deactivates the vibroblade and slides it under his cloak, where it promptly seems to vanish. Bucky eyes him, and—he hadn’t considered cloaks a viable clothing choice for anyone except, like, Gregorian monks, but he might have to reconsider that.

Then, with a quiet sigh, the man folds his hood back, then curls his hands together and bows to Bucky. “I'm Jedi Master Jon Antilles,” he says, and watches Bucky as he lifts his head, apparently looking for some sort of reaction. When Bucky just shrugs at him, his mouth curls ruefully, and he says, “My ship went through a wormhole and I seem to have crashed here.”

A wormhole. Bucky is going to _kiss_ him. “So you’re from farther away then Mars? If you needed a wormhole to get here, it has to be _far_ , right?”

Jon blinks at him, apparently bemused. “Yes. I'm…from a galaxy far, far away. According to my instruments before I crashed.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Bucky says, and he might have been a prisoner of a bunch of evil-science-happy Nazis for the past seventy years, but it’s still a trip to slam face-first into something that could be pulled right out of one of the magazines he had as a kid. “That’s _cool_.”

There's a startled pause, and then Jon laughs softly. It warms the scarred angles of his face, even as he ducks his head like he’s trying to hide it. Bucky scoffs, shifting back on his heels, and says, “Fine, whatever, keep laughing. It’s not like Earth gets aliens _ever_.”

Jon raises his hands in surrender, though that doesn’t make his small smile disappear. “My apologies,” he says, and then, “You're far from civilization.”

Bucky pauses, good humor fading. For a moment he debates not answering at all, or lying, but—

“I'm hunting some bad people,” he says finally. “They have a base somewhere around here, but I haven’t found it yet.”

Jon turns, tilting his face up towards the sky. His eyes slide shut, and for a moment he’s so still that it hardly even looks like he’s breathing. Then, with complete certainty, he opens his eyes and points down the range, towards where the peaks dip down towards a valley.

“I feel people there,” he says. “Several hundred. And they're…dark.”

Well, Bucky thinks, eyeing him. That was…easy. Maybe too easy. “Yeah?” he drawls. “And what exactly does an alien have against HYDRA?”

Jon is silent for a long stretch, watching Bucky in return. There's something strange about the weight of his stare, uncomfortable, too heavy. It’s like he can pare Bucky down and get at what’s inside him, and—well. Bucky's not exactly ready to deal with that. If he was, he’d have gone back to Steve the second he started to remember, not swiped a notebook and started keeping lists of things that might possibly be his favorite foods.

“Nothing,” Jon finally says. “But they hurt you.”

He says it like it’s fact, like he _knows_ , and Bucky's stomach turns. “I worked for them,” he says harshly. “I was _one_ of them.”

“Yes,” Jon says, simple, plain. “But you regret it. And if you had had a choice, you would have chosen differently.”

Bocky’s throat locks up, and he can't even begin to think of a response.

Jon just nods regardless, like he _did_ respond, and leaps up past Bucky in a surge of motion that defies human ability. Half a moment later, he drops back out, carrying a belt covered in pouches and what looks like a tube covered in pale wood. “I’ll help you,” he says readily, and buckles the belt around his waist. When he goes to step past Bucky, though, Bucky hisses out a breath, can't stop himself from lashing out and grabbing Jon by his cloak, dragging him around and hauling him down.

“What the _hell_?” he demands. “You don’t even know me. _Or_ what I did.”

Careful, deliberate, Jon reaches up and closes his hand over Bucky's metal fingers, gripping gently. “I don’t need to,” he says, quiet. “You're a good man. You need help. I can help you, so I will.”

Bucky closes his eyes, but opens his hand, lets Jon straighten up again. “You're going to regret this,” he says, harsh. “They're _bad_.”

Jon smiles, just a little, and pulls his hair up, knotting it into a bun on the top of his head and then tugging his hood up again. “Good,” he says calmly. “Then I won't have to hold back.”

Bucky should really sit down and get him to explain exactly what _Jedi Master_ means. Because clearly, despite the robes, it’s not a monk thing. Or if it is, it’s not a monk like Bucky's ever met before.

“Just like that?” he asks, and Jon hums.

“Well,” he says. “It might take us a while to get there. My ship doesn’t seem to be functional.”

He’s out of place, stranded in a strange world. Bucky can relate. He huffs, then tips his head and says, “Guess we have a long walk to get to know each other, then.”

“There's been worse company,” Jon says mildly, and starts down the slope of the mountain.

It takes Bucky a few frozen seconds to figure out if that was intended the way it hit, but—well. Even if it wasn’t, he _wants_ to take it that way.

He always did like the stories where the handsome hero seduced the hot alien babe. This is just…a little sideways from that.

Most things seem to be these days, but it’s not always a change for the worse.


End file.
